The Broken: never quite fixed
by kjate95
Summary: When the years have passed and the days are shorter and life seems so much simpler, one cannot help but look back at what once was in regret or longing. The story's of the broken, who can never quite be fixed, but who try anyway. A collection of short story's.


_Lucius and Narcissa_

No one really knew what to make of the Malfoys anymore. They were not a broken family; they had missed out on that particular struggle, as each and every member had survived. They still had their money and they're titles as well as they're big fancy house, even if their once notorious political power was no longer there. All three of them were free of Azkaban prison, despite their clear loyalties over the war. There was only one noticeable scar for each of the men of the family; easily coverable below a sleeve, even if all who glanced it's way knew it was there. And only one more line across the forehead for the wife, where the past few years of worry had taken its toll. They were completely together, yet at the same time they were collecting the fragments of a shattered life.

'It is a strange thing to observe,' said one man in passing.

'Seeing the great crumble,' said an intimate family friend, 'Is tragic when it's all they've ever known.'

'It would be sad,' said one particular lady one day, 'if there were not sadder things to comprehend after everything that's happened.'

'They deserve it, that's for sure,' said the ignorant observer.

Yet despite the comments and whispers, which were quiet enough to not be over heard in the street and yet vast enough for all to know the common opinion, the Malfoy family managed to somewhat recover. But they had lost something, the part of them that had held them straight and proud, and without this they seemed oddly at a loss of what to do next. However, they would grow again, for if they did not, as people said, 'there won't be any room in the new wizarding world for people like them.'

The thing was, that no one really cared. One might assume, as any normal person would, that this was a brilliantly good thing. They had been over looked by all those that they had hurt. How lucky for them to start a new. But for those closer to the Malfoy family, it didn't seem right.

The manor was quieter than one would think nowadays. The lights were always just a little too dim and the floors a little to cold. Draco moved out at age 19 following a new position at the Ministry of magic, co-head of the department of such and such, and his marriage to Astoria Greengrass. They, at least, seemed happy. The Malfoy child had done very well in picking up his life again.

'He was young,' people said. 'Of course everything would go well for him.'

He still dreamt, every night without fail, of each and every person he saw die. Whether it be by the hand of his aunt, a random death eater, or the dark lord himself. All those months cooped up in his home-turned-prison were never mentioned to another human being again, not even his devoted wife. He left home at 19 because the idea of staying there any longer was horrifying, which therefore meant a quick escape and an unforgiving backwards glance. He was traumatized, but he made it right again.

His parents, on the other hand never recovered. But they were strong people; nobody had ever accused the Malfoys of being weak. Yet with their child and glory gone they seemed aimless and almost none existent. As the years past and Draco made his life and grew as a man and had his first child and saw him off to Hogwarts, there just didn't seem to be any room in the world for Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy. They were almost ashamed, so they stayed in their big, empty mansion with each other.

What not many people seem to realize is that the Malfoy couple loved each other, and were as happy in each others company as any other in love. And although the strain of the war broke them, they were still broken together. And the blind scars that were unseeable to many, which would never quite heal and which no one would ever quite know about, seemed to wrap itself around its other half in an almost beautiful reassurance that life goes on.

The world changed, yet they did not.

It's a sad story really, and the ignorant observer who didn't see the sacrifice and fear and self-loathing during the dark lords return, would never see who was really there behind the name 'Malfoy'. In fact most would not at first glance. They remained cold and distance and held a similarity to their former self, like the dying ember on a candle that still shines but will never be as bright as the once great flame.

She is old, and he slightly older. She reached for his hand, and him hers. Years have pasted and the truth is easier to face. The years have gained insight, which only those who have experience them will understand. It is in these moments, some would say, that you can see the old Malfoy's again, almost royalty in their pose, almost whole once again, such as that of a broken mirror that so wishes to reflect the fixed image one more time.

The corner of her mouth turned up in a remembered smile, ghosting over her lips. He looked sideways and briefly caught it before it faded away again. They stood by the window and watched it snow lightly. The manor always did look beautiful in the winter.

'Do you remember, that day, when it was snowing,' Narcissa whispered, her words forming in the frozen air in puffs.

Attempting humor Lucius replies, 'I hate to tell you Narcissa, but it has snowed a lot in our life together.'

And she laughed, and it was beautiful, as they had not laughed in years, just hung onto that sense happiness they once knew a long time ago. But they were old, and time had forgotten them, and they could forget all that didn't matter anymore and just… forgive themselves.

Time healed all wounds.

And he laughed. And they laughed together, with an almost hysterical edge. But it was of relief, as if they had lived enough years, and seen enough horrors, that they had almost made their penance somehow.

A smile, which was usually so rare, seemed to come alight in their faces; greedy in its need to fill the time it had been kept secret. They held onto each other's hand as if life itself depended on it. They would not let go; they hardly had for over 50 years.

'When we were 17, and nothing else mattered,' Narcissa once again breathed, smiling through her words.

'Ah,' was all that was said in return with a glassy look and a soft smirk, as if remembering something that should only be remembered when all the lights were turn out.

'Before everything,' she said quietly. He echoed her words gently and squeezed her hand in comfort. The silence was comfortable. It did not need to be broken by unnecessary words.

'I love you,' he whispered.

'I love you too,' she whispered in return.

So they just stood there, as if they were before the war and Voldermort and the need for regrets and forgiveness. As if they were 17, and nothing else mattered.


End file.
